by Michael Smith

Published in Issue No. 255 ~ August, 2018

In me, you – the memory

Not even Lethe can efface

Those dulcet lays of yours

Have converted me

into what? Not even I know,

But I say it all in petto,

With my lips brushing your ear

In a reverie of endorphins.


I say it all in a lisp of wetness,

My words a hansel

With a glean of tomorrow,

Skylarking to your ear

On short feet,

Treading oh so delicately.

So nobody else can hear,

I remember saying these things


Y o u – a singularity

of history that Clio has

not yet even finished,

whose antelucan eyes

repeat ourselves

like a duvet of a book,

who’s binding explodes

with billets-doux imagined.


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Michael T. Smith is an Assistant Professor of the Polytechnic Institute at Purdue University, where he received his PhD in English. He teaches cross-disciplinary courses that blend humanities with other areas. He has published over 50 poems in over 20 different journals (mostly within the past year). He also has critical work recently published in Symbolism and Cinematic. He loves to travel.